


A Wolf’s Lullaby

by novemberhush



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And oh yeah Derek plays the violin in this, And while this fic might not quite have them reaching their happy ending yet, But all from Derek’s POV, But it’s ultimately hopeful I promise, But the feelings are definitely there, But these two deserve to be happy, But you know now so it’s all good, Derek’s tragic past is also ever present, I guess this is technically pre-slash, It definitely glimpses it down the road a little, It’s Derek Hale, It’s another dealing with the aftermath of the Nogitsune fic, M/M, Of course there’s angst, Should’ve probably mentioned that sooner, Yep you guessed it, there is angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 10:38:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13611627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novemberhush/pseuds/novemberhush
Summary: Derek hasn’t played the violin since the fire. Stiles hasn’t slept since the Nogitsune. Both those things are about to change.





	A Wolf’s Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harv3i5ladi78](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harv3i5ladi78/gifts).



> Hey! So I posted this a while ago over on tumblr after a chat with my friend @halespecterwinchester over there where the topic of Tyler Hoechlin’s role as a violin prodigy called Dylan (I kid ye not) in an episode of ‘Castle’ cropped up and inspired me to write this angstfest (although it does turn out hopeful, I promise!). I just loved the idea of Derek playing the violin and how Stiles might come to be involved in that and this was the result, which I decided to post for Valentine’s Day, which is fast approaching. God, I really hope I don’t depress you all with it! Happy Valentine’s Day, I guess! :-)

Derek may have played basketball with the rest of the guys back in high school, but while they were dreaming of the NBA he secretly longed to be a world-class violinist. Only Paige and his family ever knew he played. His friends had no idea. Ditto the ragtag group of teenagers that passes for his pack these days. His violin was destroyed in the fire and he hasn’t touched another one since. Partly because it would remind him of the little impromptu recitals he performed for his family back in the day, and partly because he doesn’t think he deserves to feel the happiness playing the violin gave him. Doesn’t deserve the way everything else just fell away when he played and he forgot all his problems and hurts. Derek doesn’t think he deserves to forget all his pain now. Derek doesn’t think he deserves much. Except to suffer.

  
But then _somehow_ ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’ crops up in conversation one day. ‘Somehow’ being that they are researching a demon they think could be behind a recent rash of ritual killings in the area and Stiles has gone off on a tangent about how often the Devil is referenced in popular culture. Complete with examples. Including, but not limited to, ‘The Devil Wears Prada’, ‘Devil With A Blue Dress On’, and the aforementioned ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’.

  
Speak of the Devil and he’s sure to appear, Derek’s grandmother had always warned. Which probably explained Peter choosing that exact moment to materialise, a snarky comment about Derek the little maestro fiddlin’ up a storm when he was a kid tucked up his sleeve. Stiles, of course, seizes on the remark, worming all the details out of Peter while Derek stands by, scowling. Which would probably be so much more fearsome if he wasn’t blushing so damned hard at the same time.

  
A few days later a slightly battered, but still perfectly serviceable, secondhand violin appears on his bed in the loft. Derek would have known Stiles was behind it even if his scent hadn’t been all over it. He recognises the offering for what it is, knows Stiles means well. But it feels like looking at flowers on a grave and he can’t quite bring himself to touch it, snapping the case shut and stashing it in the back of his closet like one more secret he has to hide.

  
Until after Stiles is possessed, that is. The Nogitsune is gone, but not forgotten, Stiles so tormented by all the things it used his body to do that he is barely functioning. He needs sleep, Derek knows, but it refuses to come. Or maybe Stiles is just too terrified to let it, scared to succumb, afraid of what might come for him when he closes his eyes. Either way, it can’t go on. But Derek doesn’t know how to help. Feels useless and helpless and clumsy with every failed attempt to do so. Stiles, meanwhile, spends most of his nights holed up in his room, staring at nothing, or so his father informs Scott, who in turn informs Derek.

  
One night, however, his feet carry him to Derek’s loft. Without his having consciously decided to go there, Derek would be willing to bet. He almost turns and goes home at the last minute, but Derek has heard him, and smelled him, and pulls open the door before he has time to. He invites him in with nothing more than a jerk of his head.

  
Stiles trips inside, head bowed, shoulders hunched, and Derek can’t take it any more. Can’t take the exhaustion and guilt and desperation rolling off Stiles in waves. He can’t stand the dark circles under his eyes or the hollow look in those eyes. Those eyes that were always so full of life before. He wants Stiles to rest, to recuperate. But to do that he needs to soothe him first. So for the first time in years his hand closes around the neck of a violin and not that of the latest Big Bad of the Week, while the other reaches for the bow.

  
The sounds he makes at first aren’t particularly soothing. He’s rusty, and the violin could use a little tuning. Slowly, though, it all starts coming back to him. So many things come back to him.

  
He doesn’t know when he started crying, but he ignores the wetness on his face. This isn’t about him right now. It’s about Stiles. Stiles who had curled up on his couch, curled in on himself, trying to make himself smaller, as if hoping if he could only get small enough he could disappear entirely. Stiles whose eyes had been so faraway before, but who is now staring at Derek, transfixed.

  
Derek plays and he plays. Soft, mellow, melancholy pieces. Fragments of his childhood that he had thought consumed in the fire settling in his bones once more, only slightly singed after all. Still warm, even after all this time, but no longer scorching to the touch.

  
Finally his fingers pick out the gentle strains of a lullaby. Something Russian about keeping the wolf from the door. The little grey wolf that would drag you from your bed and into the woods, under the willow root. He had played it many times before for his family. They had all enjoyed the irony of it. ( _Was it ironic, though?_ Derek wonders now. He can’t remember the exact definition of the word. High school English seems a lifetime ago. Stiles could no doubt tell him. He’ll have to remember to ask him another time.)

  
Now, though, there is nothing ironic in the way he plays it. He plays sincerely, earnestly and with love. He pours his heart into it, tender and bruised, but still beating, huge and resilient. He plays, drawing from all the love he felt, and still feels, for his family, for the violin - and for Stiles. Stiles who at last is drifting off, his eyelids drooping, his muscles relaxing, his lips slightly parted. And still Derek plays. Even softer now. Until he is sure Stiles is asleep, his breaths even and his heartbeat steady.

  
Quietly he puts the violin aside, trailing his fingers along it in one last caress. He eases Stiles’ sneakers off, careful not to wake him, then fetches a blanket from his bed to cover him. The fingers that only a few minutes before had been flying over the strings of the violin now find themselves running down the drawstring of Stiles’ red hoodie. They itch to reach out and trace the pale lips in front of them. To reach up and smooth back the messy brown hair atop that exquisite face, beautiful even now, despite the dark circles and the sunken cheeks. They make do with pulling the blanket up further, to ensure Stiles is warm enough.

  
But, Derek thinks, as he settles in the armchair to watch over Stiles as he sleeps (his own personal wolf to keep any others at bay), his gaze flickering momentarily from the figure on the couch to the instrument on the table, if he can pick up a violin again and feel the way he did just now - sad, yes, but cleansed too - maybe he’s finally ready to let those fingers reach out and tangle themselves with someone else’s. With Stiles’. Maybe he’s finally ready to forgive himself and start living again. And if he can do it then Stiles can too. Derek’s going to be there to make sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope I didn’t put a downer on your whole day with this! Just imagine the happy times ahead now that Derek has finally realized he’s allowed to be happy again and is determined to make Stiles realize that he’s allowed to be as well. I’d love to hear what you thought of it if you’d like to come say hi in the comments or over on tumblr, where I’m also known as novemberhush. Thanks for reading. xxx

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Wolf's Lullaby (Podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17178398) by [AiJamaisFacil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AiJamaisFacil/pseuds/AiJamaisFacil)




End file.
